


double-edged sword

by coffeesuperhero



Series: Lady's in Charge [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blade kink, F/M, sexual but no sex, spoilers for the dark world trailer, sword kink, vague references to d/s relationship, vague references to knifeplay, vague references to lady sif the femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesuperhero/pseuds/coffeesuperhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lady Sif pays Loki a visit in prison, but she has nothing to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	double-edged sword

She finds him reading, slouched against one of the stark white corners of his cell. She watches him in silence, rage coloring the scene before her, a haze of crimson creeping in at the corners of her vision, crowning the hateful sight of him with a corona that is bloody and red. 

"Why, Lady Sif," he drawls, looking up from the book to rake his eyes slowly up and down her body. "To what do I owe this _pleasure_?" 

Her jaw is tight; her gaze is grim. She makes no reply save to draw her sword, an answer of its own after all this time: she holds it steady in front of her, waiting. Her gaze crawls up the gleaming white delicate curve of his throat, slowly, incrementally, years passing as her eyes move up to meet his; when they do, with a snarl and a raised eyebrow she lifts the blade, just so. 

He drops the book. 

It wasn't long ago that the sight of her sword would have had him on his knees before the command was even at her lips, though he knew if he knelt before she ordered it, he would feel the swift sting of her disapproval. 

Now, though, how things have changed. This sword is a different sort of threat, a different sort of promise, and when he moves toward her, it is not to get to his knees. 

"Oh, I _see_ ," he says, standing and stalking closer, and she hates him all the more for his mellifluous voice, the way it slides hot and slick over her skin like blood. "You _missed_ me." 

He will get no acknowledgement from her, though what he says is not entirely untrue. She _has_ missed him, but not this hateful incarnation of him. She has missed the man he used to be, the one who spent his evenings on his knees for her, his throat pressed trustingly up against the polished silver of the blade in her hand, his body marked with the bruises she left there. She watches him pace in front of her like a caged beast and wonders how much of the man she knew even remains, and when he stills and meets her eyes, she keeps silent. 

She stands near the glass, refusing to flinch even though his magic sends all the cell's furniture flying at her face. The barrier will catch it, though the force of her rage might burn it through even if it did not. He laughs as chairs crackle against the barrier of the cell; she stands unmoving, strong muscles never wavering, the line of her sword straight and true, the tip of the blade pointing at his throat. His eyes are cold and hard, but he lifts his chin as though he welcomes the chill of the blade against it. She takes half a step forward, her sword poised a breath from the barrier that separates them. 

This sword used to be a source of comfort for both of them, for they gave and received in equal measure, their relationship balanced like the sword itself. She had never valued peace, but in the quiet of those evenings when she lay curled around him, fingers in his hair, she thought he looked calmer, peaceful, as though all his wordless fears had been chased away by the strength of her hands and the cool metal of her swords. 

She has not come to comfort him now, but to warn him. One day soon they will release him; Thor's heart may be harder now than it was, but it is softer than he pretends, and she will suffer no more treachery from the faithless worm in front of her. 

She offers him the same peace she has always offered him, the precarious peace poised at the point of her knife. Stray but a little, her sword says, and death awaits you. His eyes drift back down the sword, all the way to her hand at the hilt, and then he nods, just once, the motion of it barely perceptible. Though it disappoints her, this acquiescence, this willingness to accept the villain he has become instead of begging her forgiveness, for no matter how far from home he has gone, there remains a place for him, albeit at her feet. She sheaths her sword and turns to go without a word, the heels of her boots echoing loudly through the chamber as she ascends the stairs. 

Her foot reaches the top of the last stair leading out of his prison before she hears it: a dull thud, the weight of a man hitting his knees. 

She smiles all the way back to her chambers.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the trailer for Thor: TDW a million times and had a gif open in a tab all day of Loki grinning while Sif's sword was at his neck; this is the logical conclusion of that series of events. Lady Sif, femdom, is a thing that's going to happen explicitly at some point in the near future.


End file.
